Page 34 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Digby told him what to do with himself and immediately felt bad. It wasn’t Radd’s fault that he was horny and tired and frustrated. And confused. So damn confused.

“What’s his motive?”

“You’re assuming it’s a man,” Radd pointed out.

“His, her,whatever. Why does he want to meet us?” Digby demanded, standing up to pace his bedroom. He needed to work off some excess energy and when he was done with this call, he’d head for his lap pool and push his body until he banished Bay’s lovely face from the big screen in his head.

“I guess we’ll find out next week,” Radd laconically replied.

“On one hand, I don’t care about the money or collections of cars, art and property—we both have enough to carry us through several lifetimes. But I am curious as to who Gil and Zia thought important enough to warrant such generosity.”

“Me too,” Radd admitted. “Once we know, we can put the parents behind us.”

He’d like nothing better than to put his parents, their deaths, his past with them and the mystery surrounding their inheritance to bed, forever. He had more important things to worry about.

Like Bay...

Annoyed with himself for allowing his thoughts to return to her—not that they were ever really off her—Digby told Radd he was looking forward to seeing him, and to him getting back to work, and disconnected.

Digby tapped the face of his phone against his forehead and hoped that the day would be kind to him. Honestly, at this point, he didn’t know if he needed a liter of coffee, six shots of tequila or to sleep for a month. Or all three.

Or Bay.

Mostly, he reluctantly admitted, he just needed Bay, any way he could get her.

Later that day and on the other side of the property, Bay sat on the Persian carpet in Digby’s office, surrounded by fabric swatches and wallpaper samples. She’d yet to find the exact fabric and wallpaper combination she wanted for the ballroom.

She was not usually this indecisive and it was driving her nuts. Maybe she needed to take the sample books up to the ballroom and look at them in the natural light, but she’d tried that already and the entire exercise just made her feel more confused.

And self-doubt was creeping in...

She’d told Digby she couldn’t do this. What made her, or him, think that she could take on a project this size? It was nuts; she had no experience, no track record. This fabric cost thousands of dollars a yard, what if she made a mistake?

Bay leaned forward and banged her forehead on the book in front of her, feeling her back muscles stretching as she did the once-familiar movement. She hadn’t done any yoga or Pilates for months; she was risking tearing a muscle thinking she was as flexible as she was earlier in the year.

What she wouldn’t do for a hot-stone, full-body massage...

Digby had told her, a while ago, that she could use the hotel’s spa at no cost, but it wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing, especially since they were...well, not at odds, but their relationship had shifted.

Since sleeping together, they were both behaving like polite strangers, both pretending that they hadn’t been intimate, physically as well as mentally. These days their meetings and interactions were both brief and rushed, mostly because Digby was rarely around.

Bay wasn’t a fool; she knew that Digby was spending more time at Tempest-Vane headquarters to avoid her.

But she missed him, she missed who they were together.

Bay sat up slowly, picked up her water bottle and took a long sip. Leaning back on her hands, she stared at the art on Digby’s walls, seascapes that never failed to soothe her. Except today, today she was fairly certain that not even a strong hit of Valium would do the trick.

She was tired, she hadn’t slept well in weeks, her creativity had all but dried up and Olivia, obviously picking up on her stress, was being a monster and fighting her on anything and everything.

Thank God for Roisin.

Thank God, and all his angels, archangels, saints and deities, for Roisin.

Feeling like the walls were closing in on her, Bay stood up and walked out of Digby’s office and down the staff corridor. Thinking that she’d take a walk in The Vane’s impressive gardens, she slipped into the lobby and ducked around three businessmen waiting for a lift.

The lobby was full of guests and Bay wrinkled her nose as clashing perfumes and the scent of the huge floral bouquets drifted over her. Heading left, she crossed the lovely harlequin floor, aiming for the wide French doors that led to the wraparound veranda.

The back of her neck tingled and Bay recognized that sensation; it meant that Digby was near. Looking around, she saw him standing by the concierge’s desk, talking to a small group who’d obviously just arrived.

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